Homeless Shelter's precious moment

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Added: Sat. Sep 11, 2010 2:10pm
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Homeless Shelter's precious moment

Seated in the TV room waiting for dinner when I hear ‘Rose L. please report to the kitchen.’ ‘Darn what the heck do they want now,’ is my first response. I get up from watching an old movie with a couple of other women and head to the kitchen. I’m slightly dizzy because of the hour and haven’t eaten since noon, when I had a peanut butter sandwich outside on the bench. I eat there nowadays so I can feed the squirrels, male and female, this seems to be their domain along with mine. Along with a peanut butter sandwich I had something called a fruit roll up, that I haven’t quite figured out how to eat these past few days I’ve received in my lunch bag. Seems they have run out of granola bars, so fruit roll ups are put in their place. The first time I saw the stick, I picked it up and tried chewing it, without success. Then someone said, “Rose you need to remove the plastic first.”

So now I know to remove the plastic, and try hard to get my teeth into the sticky fruit that is spread on plastic wrap. I scrape my teeth along the plastic, but still the fruit doesn’t come off. I wish I had a child with me so they would teach me this new way of eating. It takes a lot of energy and soon I’m discussed and give up and throw it in the garbage. I throw bits of a halved bagel I took from breakfast and stuck in my lunch bag to the squirrels that will come soon. I wait. I see a mocking bird but he just looks at me, when I call him to come. I guess he’s not hungry.

Now I walk gingerly to the kitchen and ask, “You paged me?”

Chef tells me yes, she’s running late and could I put peaches and ice cream in cups. Sure, I tell her, unsteady on my feet and not knowing if I will last the time it takes to do this. Then I think, whenever we have ice cream at the Shelter it’s melted, like soup. I ask, “Maybe it would be better if I serve the ice cream after the meal has been served?” Chef looks at me, “Yeah, that’d be good.” as she runs around trying to get dinner ready in ten minutes, before the hungry women come through the door, not thinking anything else but Food. I ask how many women are here, so I have an idea of the amount of desert cups to serve. Chef tells me, 94. “Wow, full up,” I say. And chef nods her head.

I start putting peach peaces in cups and count as I work. I’m unsteady and ask if I can have a half glass of milk, thinking maybe this will set me steady. I drink it down fast hoping this will be the cure for dizziness.

I take quarts of vanilla ice cream out of the freezer, and open them, Now it’s 5:55pm, and I hear restless women and children outside the closed door, ready to come in and grabs forks, spoons, knifes, drinks, hamburgers, hot dogs, fries. After the first ten women go through the line, I take a tray with two quarts of ice cream and go around scooping ice cream out to children and mothers. I’m not dizzy, apparently the milk has helped, hypoglycemia I think.

I hear my name, “Miss Rose, over here, you forgot me.” Miss Rose, another scoop.” “Miss Rose, Miss Rose, Miss Rose.” When I get to one family the mother says, ‘no ice cream here.’ and I say, “None? Really?” The mother shakes her head no. Her children don’t say anything but the looks are sad, not a happy face among the four.

I finish the two on my tray and go back to the kitchen for another two quarts. Because peaches are on their trays already it’s easy to scoop the ice cream on top. Although some want ice cream on their plate too, saying they don’t like it with peaches, so I give two helpings. After looking in the freezer there had to be at least twenty quarts of ice cream left and I’m sure they’ll get more when donations come in.

Now with more ammunition, I scoop. A few adults ask me to fill glasses up with ice cream. I do. I feel like Santa Clause, well, maybe Miss Clause and it’s Christmas. “Miss Rose, Miss Rose, Miss Rose.” is all I hear. I’m happy they all know my name. I’ve made a name for myself here at the Homeless Shelter.

Soon I hear “Rose, come and fix your tray.” I look at the staff member and tell her, “Okay just a few more, and I scoop the last few out.

6:50 and I’m done scooping ice cream. Then the mother of four calls me to give her children ice cream. No Lactose Intolerance which I thought at first. Mother tells me the children had to eat their food first, then they could have desert. Their eyes light up when I scoop doubles on to their peaches. “Thank you Miss Rose,” four times.

Only problem, I’ve forgotten myself, the one who loves ice cream and has had it only three or four times in the four months I’ve been here. I go to the freezer and get my own scoop. It must be Christmas.

Rose Lamatt Ó 2010